There Is No Mathematics
by Soncnica
Summary: To love and loss. Remix of Mad Server’s story ‘Display’.


**So this**** is my remix of last week's Mad Server's story 'Display'. You really need to read her fic first to understand this one… me thinks! **

**Thank you Enkidu07 for the very quick and awesome beta. **

**I own nothing and all the grammar/spelling mistakes are mine. The title of this fic is from Anberlin's song called 'There Is No Mathematics To Love And Loss'. The story has nothing to do with the song; I just found the title really fitting. **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

The rain was pouring down like it had no intention of stopping. Ever. Bright lightning split the sky, its long fingers spreading throughout the whole wide plain of dark sky.

"Oh, man!" Dean whined and raised his left foot slightly from the ground.

"What?!" Sam turned around and through a thick curtain of rain, saw his brother pouting and looking as if he just lost his last bag of peanut M&M's.

But then he saw the reason of his brother's whine and tried to suppress his laughter, but … seeing Dean waving his left foot in the air, with only his sock covering his toes… Sam lost it.

"Hahahaha, awww man… that's like… a complete Kodak moment!!"

While Sam was grabbing for his phone to take a picture of Dean's wet, thick, white sock covering his foot, and his boot stuck in mud, Dean already retrieved the shoe and was putting it on.

"Man, I hate rain!" Dean had to shout the words out, if he wanted Sam to hear them. The noise the heavy rain drops were making when hitting the ground was so loud, Dean had trouble hearing his own thoughts.

"Yeah well… tonight's our last chance if we wanna get this guy!"

"I don't like this… I don't like this at all!"

Dean was soaking wet, his clothes stuck to his skin, his left foot wet, his boot muddy and heavy, his hair was plastered to his forehead and when he raised his hand to push his hair up, the fat rain drops pulled his hair back down and after a while he just gave up with a sigh.

"Aw, what's the matter, Dean?! Got wet feet?!"

"Shut up, or I'm picking out a show we're watching tonight!"

"I won't have to watch The Shining again, will I?!"

"Don't diss my Jack!"

"'m not dissing him, 'm dissing the movie!"

"Hey, the movie is awesome! It's better then watching what you normally choose!"

"Whatever man, come on! Let's move on!"

The sound of their footsteps was lost in the downpour.

-:-

"Dad, Mom…." His voice wasn't shaking one bit.

"Hey sweetie…" his mom said sweetly. He thought he would get diabetes from all that sugar dripping from her voice.

"I need to talk to you two."

"I have to go to work, can't this wait?" his dad said, while drinking down the last drop of orange juice from a greenish glass.

"I… uh… no…"

"Okay, make it fast, I have tons of work to do today and my boss is all over my case," he turned to his wife who was standing by the sink, her hands wet from washing the dishes, "we have this new client coming in today and it's gonna be a fuckin' nightmare, I might not make it home by dinner…" his dad was checking his watch with every word he spoke, as if that would make time go faster. Faster… so that he could finally leave the house and not have to deal with his failure of a son and a wife who gracefully and secretly puts up with every punch and kick he throws her way.

"I…ummm… uh…"

"Speak up, boy or wait until tomorrow. I really need to leave… tell your mom, she'll tell me later."

"I'm gay," he blurted out, just like that. He didn't even know why he said it… why he felt this strange desire to even tell his parents… 's not like they give a shit about him anyways. It's not like they're this perfect little family, 's not like he's perfect… he's a fucked up basket case who's only line of defense, from every shitty thing that happens to him, is sarcasm. So why this strange desire to tell them he's gay? He could just keep it to himself and run away.

Maybe he just wanted a reason to run away, and he knew that his father would give him one. And as for his mom? She never defended herself, never did anything to protect herself or him from the punches her husband threw at her… so… why should she care? Why should he care?

There was silence in the kitchen after that and breakfast was getting colder and colder.

A fly buzzing over his head and landing on a half eaten piece of toast was a catalyst in a way…

"Get out of my house, you sick, ungrateful bastard!! You fucked up little shit!!"

Shove, punch… split lip, and a bruise on his back, when he hit the fridge's handle.

"Dad…" He wanted to defend himself, wanted to protect himself from his dad's words, his punches. He raised his hands up to at least protect his head, but his dad was a mean son of a bitch and he aimed for his guts.

"To bring this… this disgrace to our family… get the hell out of my house!!"

For a tiny second, he thought: 'What family? We haven't been a family in fuckin' years' but then a fist connected with his stomach and the pain was too real to even think about anything else.

"Fuck you…"

He spat out and didn't get far before his father started talking: "You sick son of a bitch… get out, stay out! You're not my son any more… you're not the man I raised you to be! You're nothing to me. Get out!! Get the hell out of my house!!"

For a split second he thought: 'You raised me to be? You didn't raise nothin' but before he could even think any further he found himself out on the street, with his childhood home getting further away from him with each step he took. He couldn't even remember what his mom had said about this whole situation. He didn't care; maybe she screamed to them to stop, maybe she cried. Whatever. He got his reason to leave.

-:-

"'m drenched, Sam. Drenched. 'd you know what drenched means? It means that if you squeeze my clothes, the water would make an ocean out of the Sahara."

"Dean."

"What?"

"Shut up."

"You're no fun."

"We're on a hunt."

"So?"

"'m not exactly having a party myself here, I mean… 'm wet too and I'm waiting here to shoot a guy."

"A really, really bad man."

"A man nonetheless."

-:-

He could still feel his father's hand on his shoulders, pushing him out of the door, he could still feel his dad's fist when it connected with his jaw, he could still feel his dad's spit on his cheek when his father spat at him, he could still feel pain in his stomach, this dull throb… still felt it all when he walked the streets of the city even after three days. Alone, cold and tired. So tired.

He licked his split lip, the taste of blood finally receded a little and turned into another street, the cold wind sharp in his face.

He had no friends, he had no parents, he had no home… he only had his love. Richie… the one he gave his heart to. The only one who would understand. The one he loved. He had to wait for three days for Richie to come home from visiting his grandparents. His freakin' grandparents who are probably gonna kick the bucket any moment now, while he was here… suffering and alone. Three days of wandering around the city, sleeping curled up in a ball under the safe heaven of the city's bridge.

But now… he could go and curl up with Richie.

-:-

The rain kept falling harder and harder, their line of vision was obscured by the heavy rain drops, their hearing was not 100% because of the noise the rain drops made when they fell down on the leafy ground… and by the time Dean caught a glimpse of something furry approaching his brother… it was to late.

"Sam, watch out!"

But the warning came to late… Sam's back already hit the ground.

-:-

Richie tasted the same as the first time they kissed. All sweet and yummy.

He felt the same too. All hard muscles and soft hair.

"Whatcha doin' here?" Were the words Ritchie mumbled into the kiss.

He untangled his tongue from Richie's, swallowed down the taste of his boyfriend and said the words that sealed his fate: "I told my parents, they… ha… they kicked me out."

Then he sealed his lips over Richie's again and all he knew was _ohsweetGodneedmorefuck_… but then Richie broke the kiss to say: "Why the hell did you do that for?"

He raised a brow. "Because… you and me… me and you… I…"

"What?"

"Love you?" he shrugged.

"You… you idiot!" Richie laughed, "You're like seventeen, man… you… you don't know what you want. What love is, man."

"What?" He couldn't breathe all of a sudden… all the air got sucked out of his lungs.

"You were a good fuck, but... love? Seriously?"

"What the fuck, man?"

-:-

The werewolf was growling in his ear, his claws near his arms, but not touching quite yet, not leaving any wounds, because then there was a ringing in his ear and the body of a man fell dead on top of him.

"Ugh, get him off of me, man!"

"Hang on."

The dead weight of the man disappeared from his chest and Sam found himself being bombarded by fat, cold rain drops that made him close his eyes and mouth and groan when he rolled over and stood up.

"Ya good?"

"Swell."

"Good, let's go burn him."

Sam looked above his head… the rain coming to a stop.

"Piece of cake."

-:-

The iron felt cold in his palm; he squeezed it tighter. The wind sharp on his face, cutting into his eyes, making them water. No, he wasn't crying… it was just the wind.

The feeling of loneliness started to tear him apart from the inside out. He couldn't… there was no one… no one to… there was no one there to understand him. To love him.

"Fuck this shit."

He let go. Let go of the railing, let go of his life. Made his body fly into the deep depths below the bridge. He felt free. Finally. There's no one to betray you in death. He hoped.

"Geronimooooooooooooo…" The voice got lost in the splash his body made when it hit the cold, deep, vicious, murky water.

Drowning is the most painful death, they say. They're right. But the feeling of being alone… feels a lot like drowning anyway.

-:-

"Get me coffee… I need coffee, man."

Dean threw himself on the mattress and rubbed his palms over his eyes. He was tired, he was soaking wet, he was… miserable.

"You okay?"

"I feel like crap, man."

"Yeah, you look like crap too… go wash up, 'm gonna go get us some caffeine."

Dean pushed himself up and walked towards the bathroom, closing the door at the same time Sam closed the front door.

-:-

The body was washed ashore later the next day. One more dead kid. One more life lost.

Police officer Nick Pepper knocked on a white imitation wooden door and took a deep breath.

"Yes?" A woman asked from a little crack between the door and the door frame. Her hair was a mess, her clothes a bigger mess.

"Is your son Eric Wilder?"

"Eric? What…"

"Can I come inside, ma'am?"

-:-

"Here's your coffee…"

"Awesome! Gimme, gimme, gimme…" he raised his hands, begging to get his fix.

Sam smiled and sat down behind the small table, got out his laptop, turned it on and took a sip of his own coffee, while the computer was still loading.

-:-

The funeral was… small and empty. His mother was sporting a brand new shiner on her eye, the color turning purple now. His dad was glancing at his watch every third word the priest said.

"'_m gonna show them who they really are…"_

Eric flickered and disappeared when the casket was being lowered into the ground.

_Show them…__ show them everything. _

-:-

"We have a new gig!"

"Already?"

"Yup, so buckle up."

"What's the deal?"

"Funeral home, heart attacks, weird corpses, dead people… you know… the usual."

"Okay… let's go."

After thirteen minutes in the Impala, the road shining in the moonlight, Dean coughed for the first time.

After thirty-two and a half minutes in the Impala, the road seemingly endless, Dean sneezed for the first time.

After sixty-four and three quarters of a minute in the Impala, the car full of gas once again, Dean thought his head was about to explode.

After seventy-three minutes in the Impala, with another city's lights flickering away, a drop of snot fell on Dean's lap.

"Dude, wipe your nose. You're gross."

"Suddup."

**---**

**The End.**

**Btw… what Eric's dad said to Eric… that's not my**** own view on things. Because people… no matter who you are, who you love… in the end… love is the only thing that matters. He who found love, truly lived. **

**Peace. **


End file.
